


The List of Dread

by SilkyinaBottle



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: M/M, Summer Camp, Trans Male Character, dib and zim hate each other but are forced to spend time together until they feel otherwise, gaz is really done with dib, keef tries and fails to matchmake, zim is vulnerable out in the wilderness with no technology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4321461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilkyinaBottle/pseuds/SilkyinaBottle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer has finally rolled around, and Dib and Zim have both been forced to go to the same summer camp. With Keef lingering around and Gaz just as sour as usual, it's shaping up to be the worst summer ever... but will something unexpected happen instead? Either way, it's gonna suck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flying Cars and Clipboards

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The List of Dread](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/128022) by Firefly Fairy In A Bottle. 



> So, who else is hyped as FUCK for the new Invader Zim comic? I know I am! So I figured since now is a prime time for Invader Zim fanwork, it would be great opportunity to bring back a story I've been wanting to work on for a long time. This is a story that was originally on fanfiction.net but it got dropped due to lack of interest. But I always really loved the writing and thought I could improve upon it. So here we are! A lot of changes have been made, but it's still the same story at heart.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dib's life sucks, so it's a good thing Zim is here to keep it interesting.

Dib watches another billboard pass by, unimpressed by the barren landscape and dreary atmosphere. He's pretty sure it read "BUY POOP," but he's not really paying attention to it between the whirring of the car, the noises coming from Gaz's Game Slave, and the enthusiastic droning of his father.

"—of all the joyous occasions you'll share with your fellow campers!" he's saying, guiding their family car down unfamiliar road after unfamiliar road. Their "family car" wasn't a regular car—Dib couldn't have hoped for that much. Fortunately for his stomach, his father had stopped using the turbo drive after taking out a fruit truck last April. "We could all use a break from the mind-numbing ways of consumer technology." Dib really doesn't think he should be taking; he _is_ a scientist, isn't he? "Isn't that right, sweetie?"

From the backseat, a foot from Dib's left elbow, Gaz grunts. For all his talk on how he was getting Dib and Gaz out of the house to experience "science in person" and how "technology and consumerism are rotting your brains," he didn't even bother trying to separate Gaz from her Game Slave. Dib doesn't blame him; she's terrifying when people touch her things, but he really wishes he could be given that same exception. He had put up quite a fight, hiding gadget after gizmo in the crevices of his bags, but his father had found them all.

Dib is busy wondering if he should confront his father about this when the car comes to a stop. "Well kids, have fun!" Professor Membrane exclaims, and Dib feels like there should be a, "We're here!" before that, but he doesn't have time to comment upon it before the car doors automatically slide open and Dib is ejected out of his seat. He can still hear the beep-boop-bop of Gaz's Game Slave from the ground on the other side of the car; she must not have been affected by this. Dib lets out a squeal as his and Gaz's bags land on top of him, having been ejected from the trunk in a similar fashion.

He pulls himself out of the wreckage and up off the dirt, groaning as he hears his back let out a series of cracks and pops. He hears the doors automatically shut behind him, and by the time he turns around the car is already blasting off into the sky. "When did he install that feature?" he wonders out loud, shielding his face from the thick layer of dust and dirt floating around in the air.

"While you were holed up in your room all day," Gaz informs him, scowling as she uses the hem of her shirt to clean the screen of her Game Slave.

Dib frowns at the device, feeling slightly jealous despite himself. "You know you're gonna have to put that away, right?" He straps on his two bags to the best of his ability, while Gaz casually picks up her striped messenger bag. "Otherwise they'll take it from you."

Gaz snorts. "There's not an adult on earth who can tell me what to do." Still, she carefully slips the purple gaming device into her bag. It must not be worth the risk.

Dib finally turns his oversized head to look for where exactly they're supposed to gather for boarding on the bus (Dib thinks it's absolutely ludicrous that, despite owning a  _flying car,_  his dad still makes him take the  _bus_ ). He spots a gaggle of kids near what appears to be... a bus stop? Duh, the bus stop! Of  _course_ they'd be at a bus stop. That just makes too much sense. Dib is quick to head over there, trying his best to blend in with the rest of the crowd (which is not particularly easy; he's grown up to be a lot taller than most kids his age). But in his own effort to blend in, he spots someone who definitely does  _not_ fit in. _  
_

Someone who has  _never_ fit in.

Gaz's eyes seem to have followed his, and she starts with, "Are you going to have one of your  _moments_? I hope you have a fake name ready, because I'm going to pretend someone else is my brother now."

But Dib can hardly hear her over the sound of his heart pounding, the sound of his head screaming, the sound of his rushing footsteps, the sound of people yelping as he pushes them aside, the sound of Zim nearly screaming as he turns around and actually  _realizes_ who it is, the sound of a low growl...

And then Zim pounces, and everything is a blur of limbs and fists and oddly-shaped teeth (Zim's always been a dirty fighter). He's a trashing, clawing, biting mess on top of Dib, getting in every hit he can in the span of fourteen seconds. That's how long it takes for Dib to turn the tables on him; after all, he has longer arms and legs. It takes some effort (and some pain resistance, as he takes some rough strikes to his forearms), but he manages to take hold of Zim wrists, and he uses the momentum to pin Zim firmly to the cement.

He lifts his fisted hand in the air, keeping his other hand on Zim's chest to keep the smaller boy down. He's vaguely aware of the crowd around them, watching and shouting; and much too aware of the way Zim's eyes widen and the way he scrunches his eyes shut when Dib brings his fist down—

—only for it not make it to Zim's body at all. It's been stopped halfway by a hand around his wrist. Dib turns to face the culprit and comes face to face with a greasy, mustached man who must be in his mid-forties. "Get on the bus," he says gruffly, and Dib can't help but obey.

* * *

 This sucks. This really, really sucks. Out of all the horrible, gruesome, grisly situations Dib has been thrown into in his sixteen-year-old life,  _this_  takes the cake in suckosity. What sucks, you ask? Maybe it's the fact that the bus is crowded and loud and Dib can barely hear himself  _think_  while he's wedged in between his sister and his mortal enemy.

Of course the bus driver forced him to sit next to Zim.  _Zim_ , the alien menace. Expect nobody can actually  _tell_  he's an alien because they're all to  _dense_  to get it into their  _thick skulls_!

Dib has pretty much given up at this point. Besides, he's finally come to realize that Zim couldn't conquer a pile of dirt. But even so, their hatred for each other has hardly simmered down—the same fighting, the same insults, the same battle wounds, the same plans to conquer the Earth.

But is it wrong to say it's getting old?

That aside, Dib and Zim have hardly spoken a word to each other after getting onto the bus. It can't be helped, really; Dib doesn't have a single thing to say to a jerk like him. So he settles for watching Gaz play Vampire Piggy Hunter until he gets a headache (he doesn't understand how she does it. Is it because her head is smaller?).

But of course, Dib couldn't help but wonder... why is Zim going to summer camp in the first place? Maybe his pet robot had talked him into it. Maybe he... nah. Sure, it sounds like something happy and silly, but Dib can't imagine the little guy getting that invested in something that didn't directly benefit him. Unless, of course, he's _here_ , but surely Dib would have noticed his ear-grating presence by now. 

Okay, so maybe Zim just felt like getting away from the Robo-Parents for a while... No, no. That's too easy. He has to have an ulterior motive. Zim _always_ has an ulterior motive. 

So maybe... of course! Zim must have some sort of secret evil plan to... to destroy the campgrounds! That filthy little _rat!_ How dare he destroy Mother Nature like that! All the squirrels and the trees and the moo—Dib quickly swallows that thought. Zim can destroy all the moose he likes; he'd be doing Dib an honest favor.

Then again, Dib shouldn't jump to conclusions. Maybe Zim (for once)  _doesn't_  have ulterior motives. Maybe he—as unlikely as it sounds—just wants to have a good time. ...Unlikely, but worth pursuing. There's no harm in asking, right? "Zim?"

"What?" is Zim's bitter answer. He doesn't look at Dib; he's still looking out the window with his arms crossed over his chest. Not that there's much to look at; it's all fields and hills and dirt. Dib has seen enough of those to last a laugh time out in Tak's ship, and he's sure Zim can relate.

"Why are you even  _going_  to summer camp, anyways? Got any secrets plans I should know about?" He rests his hands on the bus seat and leans forward, eager as always for the impending answer.

Zim spares the human a glance before slowly turning his head towards him, as if he's making sure that looking at Dib is safe. "Nothing that  _you_  would care to know, Dib-filth," he snaps. "I have come here under the request of..." He falls silent, breaking the eye contact and looking to the side dreadfully.

"Your robot dog thingy?" Dib finishes.

"No, GIR is safe at home. Hopefully he hasn't done any lasting damage..."

"How about that other alien you live with? What's his nam—"

"Skoodge is in his company. And before you even fill my ears with your utter _nastiness_ , I'll have you know that Minimoose is at home as well. I couldn't just leave the two of them unsupervised, after all."

"Of course not... Then what about Principal Tarts? Oh, wait, no...," Dib lets a sneaky grin slide across his face, "this isn't summer skool..."

"Shut your mouth, stink-boy! No!" Zim unfolds his arms, moving them to angrily clutch at the bus seat. "No. Zim has come here because...," he falters and Dib can see his cheeks turn pink with embarrassment. "Because—"

"Hey, buddy!" A familiar voice shouts out, and Zim stiffens before slowly turning around. Dib leans forward in his seat to get a better look. Even Gaz briefly looks up from her game to see what all the commotion is about.

Oh,  _no._

Keef is standing in his seat, waving animatedly at Zim, a huge smile blossoming across his face. "Hey there, Zim! I've been looking all _over_ trying to figure out where you were sitting, and I—" The boy sitting next to him—dark brown hair and even darker eyes that waver as he looks at Keef—tugs the hem of his shirt as a way of telling him to sit down. Keef looks over to him, almost as if he'd just noticed the boy, before smiling and nodding. "Okay, then!" he calls out to Zim. "Bye, buddy!"

Dib slumps in his seat as Keef sits down, letting out a small groan. After a few seconds, he just barely tilts his head to look at Zim. "Don't tell me—"

Zim expertly interrupts. "It was Keef."

Dib groans again, louder than last time. "I didn't even realize he was _here_."

Beside him, Gaz lets out a small huff. "I did. He's been there the whole time."

Dib slips his hands under his glasses and buries his face in his palms, foolishly wishing the world would end here and now. This really, really,  _really_  sucks.

* * *

"Good morning, happy campers!" Dib shifts in his seat as the cheery voice settles over the campers. They're sitting outside on a half-circle of bleachers—what's known as the "outatorium" (a pun that makes Dib nearly cringe). He can't say he's all that happy; he hasn't gotten away from Zim, and it's all Keef's fault. The redhead had all-too-quickly claimed a spot next to Zim, and begged—no,  _forced—_ Dib to join them, despite Zim's ear-breaking objections.

The dark-haired, dark-eyed boy is there, too. It's probably safe to say that Keef had made friends with him during the bus ride— it seems like Keef wants to be friends with anybody he can let his grabby little hands on. And judging by how quiet this boy is, he might doesn't have many friends, either. When Dib thinks about it, he's kind of glad Keef has made a quiet friend—maybe he can tone Keef down a couple notches.

Gaz, on the other hand, chose to move herself as far away from Dib as possible, sitting on the far edge of the outatorium. Maybe she really was serious about that "pretending not to know him" business.

But back to the situation at hand: right now, a young woman stands before them, decked in her camp gear. It's obvious she's a camp counselor, probably the camp administrator or something; her hair and eyes practically shine with glee. "I'm Ms. Midnoon," she exclaims with a hardly-moving smile, "and I'll be your head counselor and administrator for these next three weeks!" She leans forward, clasping her hands together in a way that's uncomfortably reminiscent of Zim's Robo-Mom. "Let's make our time together  _special_ , okay? I want to spread the smile virus all across this 16-acre campground!" She expresses flat surprise as she turns to see the man standing a good distance behind her on the dirt "stage." She shouldn't take up acting, Dib decides. "Oh, I nearly forgot! This is Mr. Woodknot!" She waves one hand towards the short man, who presses his lips together and averts his eyes as he speaks.

"It's Mr. Walnut."

Ms. Midnoon's smile fades, and her eyes go dull as she stares down Mr. Walnut. "Are you saying I'm wrong?" She walks right up to him, turning her back to the bleachers, and suddenly Dib feels as if he's eavesdropping. "Because I'm not. That's what it says on the _fucking_ clipboard. And we all know," she sounds out of breath now, as if she's hanging onto her last thread, "that the clipboard is  _never_ wrong."

"N-no, of course not," the man squeaks, and Dib can see his skin gleam with sweat. "I just meant, maybe we could—could change it, to fit the camp more—"

"You- _hoo_ don't even fit this camp in the  _first_ place!" she shrieks, sounding like she might break into a witch's cackle at any second. She abruptly turns back to the children, smiling despite the terrified look on her co-worker's face. "Anywho, where was I? Welcome to Sunny Summer Camp, the happiest little camp on Mother Nature's big blue earth!" She tilts her head and scans the bleachers. "We sure do have a lot of sweet, smiling boys and girls here! I think it's about time go and we split you up into cabins! Don't you agree, Mr. Waldorf?"

"I-it... it's Walnut—"

Dib doesn't see the look Ms. Midnoon gives him, but he's pretty sure she's turned the poor man to stone. Now without distractions, she resumes her speech gleefully. "Now, listen carefully: each cabin will have four children, and each team will have two cabins. That means each team will have eight children! Understand?"

There's a thick silence until one kid's voice rings out, "Yeah... I'm not good at math."

"Perfect!" Ms. Midnoon cries. "Now, the first team is... Goblin Camp!" She says it way too cheerfully for what it is, and while that doesn't exactly surprise Dib, he looks around for a reaction anyways. The concerned face he finds is Zim's. He appears to be deeply disturbed, a feeling Dib can't say is lost upon him. Ms. Midnoon holds her clipboard out like a blue ribbon prize. "The girls cabin will be—"

Every girl in the outatorium moves to sit on the edge of her seat as Ms. Midnoon reads out the names. "Gaz Membrane... Abby Alston... Noemi Patil... and Yeci Darzi! Congratulations, you're goblins!" she shouts as the areformentioned girls are quickly and forcefully ushered off by camp counselors.

"Now, as for the boys," she smiles. Dib finds himself clutching his hands together; he's probably in this cabin, right? No matter how much Gaz wants to deny it, they _are_ siblings. "Dib Membrane...," Ms. Midnoon starts, and Dib almost falls out of his seat in anticipation, not knowing if he wants Zim in his cabin or not, "Keef Sundae... Quinn Sackville... and Zim Definitelyahumanwormbaby!" Her smile grows brighter, as if she knows a disaster is in the process of unfolding. "Have fun!" she beams, and with that the four boys are pushed in the right direction by burly, oversized camp counselors.

Great. Just great. Just happy dandy la-di-do-da.

This is truly a recipe for disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original chapter: 1,278 words  
> Re-write: 2,780 words
> 
> I actually DOUBLED the length of the original chapter??? (Granted, I added on an entire prologue-type scene, but that's still wild.) Maybe that just goes to show how excited I am, haha.


	2. Teddy Bears and Corn Bread Batter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the girls and Zim is a piece of shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (btw if any of you remember the character tix from the original story, you might have noticed she's not here/has been replaced with gaz. there are quite a few reasons for this, but the big one is this: i realized that she basically had no real character and existed only for 14-year-old me to slut shame/shame "traditional high school girl femininity". these are both things that i'm rEALLY against doing now, so bam. her character is gone; doesn't matter, she never added anything to the story anyways. gaz can actually play an important part.)

"Won't this be fun, guys?" Keef says to his bestest friends as he takes a teal sleeping bag out of his overstuffed backpack. He unrolls it and sets it on his bed—the bottom bunk; he insisted on sharing with Zim.

"Very fun," Zim agrees in a tone that suggests it will not be. He's already set up his bunk, and is sitting on his sleeping bag, knees tightly against his chest. It seems the Irken prefers being elevated, kept high away from the others. A spider lowers itself right it front of his face, and he merely blows it away, eyes half-lidded. This instantly backfires when the spider swings right back into his face. Zim shrieks and swats at his face repeatedly, chanting, "Get it off, get it off, get it off!"

Quinn, the dark-haired boy from the bus, winces at this as he climbs up the latter to the top bunk—he's sharing with Dib, of course. From his appearance, Dib initially felt a little threatened; after all, his town is full of all sorts of strange and morbid people, and none of them have eyes  _that_ dark. But it seems like Quinn's pretty alright. He hasn't done much besides stare at his shoes and speak with a shiver in his voice, so Dib figures he's in the clear.

Keef flattens his sleeping bag out on the bed before getting chatty again. "We can play board games and stay up late talking and tell scary stories and eat ca—"

"S-scary stories?" Quinn says softly, and yet it's somehow enough to get Keef to stop his rant.

Zim, who's had to ditch his gloves, which are covered in spider-mush, leans forward over the railing of his bed. "You scared, human?" he smirks deviously, and Quinn falters.

"N-no! I-I... I just...," he reaches into his bag and pulls out a fluffy brown teddy bear. He squeezes it tightly, "don't like being scared. That's all."

"Is that a  _bear_?" Zim gapes, sounding almost scandalized. If he had eyebrows, they would have been raised.

"I-I...," Quinn looks to the ground, face turning red. "Um..."

"Stop picking on him, Zim!" Dib snarls, even if he's not entirely sure that's what Zim is doing (but then again, it's _Zim._ He has to assume the worst). He plunges his hand into his bag, pulling out items in what could only be described as a frenzy. If only he could remember where he had put it.... He really hadn't wanted to show anyone it—it was supposed to be a secret—but he feels like it'll make Quinn feel better.

"What are you _doing_?" Zim crows, practically dangling off of the top bunk in order to get a good view of Dib's rummaging. Dib lets his hand "slip" and Zim ends up with a face-full of one of Dib's shirts. "I'm keeping this!" he shouts in retaliation, and Dib watches out of the corner of his eye as Zim shoves it under his pillow. Damn, he liked that shirt. He'll have to take it back later, while Zim isn't looking.

But right now, he's much more focused on emptying his camping bag in front of his cabin-mates. "Damn, where  _is_ it...?"

"Dib," comes a voice from the doorway and as he turns, a flash of green and pink collides with the side of his face, knocking him down on his back. "Your dumb doll ended up in  _my_ bag," the voice grumbles, and this time Dib is sure it's Gaz. And, sure enough, when he sits up he can see the tail end of a black skirt floating away from view.

"Who was that?" Keef asks, with what sounds like great intrigue.

"My sister," Dib says, rubbing his cheek, which is probably turning purple.

"I didn't know you had a sister!" cries Keef, as delighted as usual at this news.

"Yeah, whatever," Dib replies, holding the doll carefully in his lap. "She's kind of a bitch." He stares at the doll in his lap; turning it over to get a look good at all of it. The little plush had been originally made for voodoo purposes (one of Dib's weird middel skool phases), but when that had failed, he had kept it. Why, he still doesn't know. But it's comforting, in a strange sense. The doll, though crudely made, resembles Zim without his disguise on. Dib tries to hide his reddening cheeks as he holds it out towards Quinn. "See? I have one, too."

Quinn blinks at it, and a small smile envelopes his face. Zim's reaction, however, is not so sweet.

"What is  _that_?" he says, crawling forward to the edge of his bunk, deciding now that _this_ is the prime location for viewing the life-ruining  _monstrosity_ Dib holds in his hand. His face is turning pink as he stares at the little plush, lavender eyes wide.

"I-it's a doll-thing! Now shut up!" Dib snaps, stuffing the doll back into his bag. He knows Zim can't say a single thing about it—that would mean admitting he's an alien, and Dib knows how unlikely  _that_  is.

Zim seems to know that too, since he slumps forward onto his sleeping bag, laying flat on his belly. He settles on resting his chin in his bare palms and sticking his feet up, kicking them back and forth in a strange rhythm. He pouts as he stares straight ahead, looking already bored with summer camp (and strangely like one of the girls in those teen magazines Zita likes to bring to skool).

"Hello, campers!" says a young man, poking his head into the room. His dark hair and white button-up earn a shiver out of Dib; the resemblance to Mr. Dwicky is hard to ignore. "I'm Mr. Whitemore, and I'll be your team leader!" He smiles. "I just wanna tell you to meet up at the picnic tables at three o'clock sharp!"

"Got it!" Keef responds cheerily, ending with a mock salute.

"Now  _that's_  team spirit!" says Mr. Whitemore in a voice that sounds like saccharine. "But, uh... you can lose the salute." He smiles playfully, then disappears.

"Yay, picnic tables!" says Keef, excited. "I wonder what we're gonna do?"

Dib is more concerned about the timing. "It's not too long before three..."

"What time is it now?" asks Zim, kicking his legs still. It seems like he's become a lot more accustomed to earth time since arriving here; five years ago he would have scoffed at the mention of "hours".

Dib gives his watch another quick glance, just to make sure he wasn't wrong (when your dad's nickname for you is "my poor, insane son," it becomes a habit). He tries to ignore Keef, who leans over his shoulder to look, too. "Two fifty-six."

"Useless human adults," Zim mutters, swinging his legs over the bed railing and jumping the rest of the way down. Dib is fairly sure Quinn and Keef both heard that, but neither of them seem to react. Figures.

"We should leave now...," Quinn suggests, climbing up the latter to his bunk bed, teddy bear held tightly in his arms. "Being early wouldn't be so bad." He shrugs slightly and gingerly sets the bear down on top of his sleeping bag.

"Yeah...," agrees Dib, stuffing as many of his strewn items back into his bag as he can. "I guess it would be nice to get there before the girls."

"Yes!" cries Zim, suddenly right next to Dib instead of at the other side of the cabin. Dib thinks he feels his eardrums break. "Let us beat the filthy Earth girls to the picnic tables!" Before anyone (namely Dib) can object, he rushes out of the room, eager to beat the girls in a race they don't know they're competing in.

The next to follow is Keef, speaking merrily as he zooms outside. "Yeah, and maybe we can introduce ourselves, too!" Quinn, noticing him leaving, gasps and jumps off the last step of the latter and onto the ground, running after him.

Dib slowly picks himself up, sighing. Why does Zim always have to be so... so overzealous? It only gets him into trouble, and it's bound to get Dib into trouble, too. He begins to drag himself towards the door, but then he catches eye of Quinn's teddy bear, placed gently on top of his violet sleeping bag.

Hardly paying attention to what he's doing, Dib takes a step back, stoops down, and takes the Zim doll back out of his bag. It's not the best—Gaz could have done better without even trying (she took up cosplay last summer and, like everything she's ever done, became a natural at it)—but it makes him smile. He runs his thumb across one side of it's swollen head and swiftly lifts up his pillow, placing the Zim doll underneath it. No one would ever have to know.

"Dib! C'mon, we're waiting for you!" Dib hears Keef call out, and he almost laughs, imagining the boy waving one arm over his head, the other cupped near his mouth to make his voice louder.

"Not all of us willingly!" Zim adds, startling Dib out of whatever nightmare world had put him in such a trance. He heaves a sigh and sets the pillow down, hiding the doll for good.

"Coming!"

* * *

As it turns out, they're already too late: as they walk out of the cabin, they see the girls walking out of the only other cabin with "GOBLINS" messily scribbled on a wooden sign above its door. Zim's eyes grow wide, and he takes a rushing leap forward. "We must defeat them!" he shouts at maximum volume, causing the girls to look their way.

Dib reaches out just in time, catching the back end of Zim's shirt collar in his hand. Zim's momentum almost sends him tumbling forward, but the alien's weight doesn't pull through and Dib stays standing. "Cool it, Zim," he says in a strained whisper. "There's no race. Besides, they've already noticed us."

Zim frowns, crossing his arms. "Fine," he mumbles, rolling his eyes before wrenching himself out of Dib's clutches, just as he's done so many times before.

Keef smiles as he looks back at the girls. "Maybe we should get to know them! They  _are_  part of our team!" he says brightly. "We could make some new friends!" Of course that would be his motive. Without even waiting for any sort of approval, he waves the girls over. "Hi!" he cries out.

The girls look at each other warily before making their way towards the boys. Dib can hear muffled whispers from two of them as they come closer.

"Hi!" Keef says, breaking the silence with an exuberant grin. "I'm Keef!" He looks towards Quinn, who's staring at his feet as he walks, face turning pink. Seeing that he's too nervous to introduce himself, Keef continues with, "He's Quinn!"

One of the whispering girls raises a dark eyebrow, crossing her arms as she stares at Zim skeptically. "Who's the green kid?"

"You may address me as Zim," he announces proudly, setting his hands on his hips. "And it's a _skin condition_ ," he adds, annunciating the words more than he needs to. He then points towards Dib with the green claw that would be his thumb. "This is the Dib-Stink."

Dib scowls, glaring at the shorter. "It's just  _Dib_."

Zim sticks his tongue out at him indignantly. The group falls silent for a moment, before Gaz remarks, sounding almost surprised, "What? Nothing about him being an alien?"

Dib shrugs. "What's the point? They'll just call me crazy."

The girl with dark eyebrows (and even darker hair), who was leaning forward to look at them, suddenly pulls back, holding her nose. "He sure  _smells_  like an alien," she says, brown eyes narrowing.

"How do  _you_  know what an alien smells like?" Zim asks, sounding rather insulted. How  _dare_  this girl call him smelly! It's the Dib-Beast that is stinky!

"I  _don't_ ," she says, stepping forward to give Zim a long, hard stare. "But I'm pretty sure no  _normal_  person smells like  _that_."

"Well... Well...," Zim looks from face to face, struggling to find the right insult to leave his lips. Finally he settles with, "Your face is stupid!"

"Your's is stupider," she replies, sticking out her tongue. Zim sputters, making Dib laugh out loud. He decides he likes this girl. "I'm Abby," she says, satisfied with the look on Zim's face.

"I'm Yeci," mutters another girl with curly brown hair, who's been quiet this whole time. Her eyes are darker than Quinn's, and that trait all on its own makes Dib shiver.

"My name's Noemi!" announces a girl with long lavender hair (why do so many girls have purple hair?).

Gaz looks almost sick to her stomach at this exchange of friendliness, but she introduces herself nonetheless, "I'm Gaz," she starts with great exasperation, "and this idiot is my brother." He points at Dib, and he sighs heavily in response. He's a lot smarter than everyone makes him out to be,  _really_....

"Nice to meet you all!" Keef cries, overwhelmed with the whole slew of new faces. "I love making new friends!"

"Friends?" says Gaz, eyes widening enough to make her irises visible underneath all of those layers of eyeliner. "No way."

"I've already been forced to have enough friends...," mumbles Yeci, her dark eyes glancing at each of the other girls.

"I dunno...," says Abby, averting her eyes from Keef's shockingly red hair. "You're kinda... scruffy. No offense."

"None taken," says Keef, still smiling. He turns towards Noemi. "What about you, Noemi? Will you be my friend?" Dib can't believe how silly that sounds; he also can't believe Keef isn't still in kindergarten.

"Keef, right?" she asks, smiling slightly. After Keef nods, her smile grows wider and she says, "Sure, why not?"

"Why _not_?" Abby whispers harshly as she pulls Noemi to the side by her forearm. It's a really loud whisper—there's no doubt that everyone can hear them. "Just look at him, Noemi! And his friends; what freaks! Especially that green kid!"

Dib smiles triumphantly. Maybe this girl really  _can_  tell that he's an alien (and he'll blissfully ignore what she said about him being a freak; he's used to it)! As Abby parts away from Noemi, he keeps his eyes on her, wondering how to broach a conversation with her. If Abby notices, she's disregarding him, but Dib could care less. The excitement overtakes him so much that he doesn't notice Zim glaring daggers at him.

This Earth girl infuriates him for reasons he cannot comprehend. All he knows is that the more Dib smiles in her general direction, the more he wants to run her over her general direction with his Voot cruiser (if only it were here). Could this be... that "jelly" that humans often speak of? Zim knows little about it, but he's spent long enough on Earth to understand that it's some sort of human emotion, similar to anger.

But why should Zim care if Dib is staring at some obnoxious Earth girl? Really, what reason is there for him to be upset? Look, she doesn't even like him! She doesn't even _notice_ him! She just continues on with her day as if she isn't taking all of his attention for herself. It makes Zim so angry he could just, he could just... oh, that pitiful Earth creature! He will  _destroy_  her the next chance he gets! No... no. Why does he even care? She's just walking with them... making the Dib-thing smile... hardly giving him any attention... and all through this, Dib is absolutely oblivious to how much this girl dislikes him! It makes Zim absolutely  _sick_ to his squeedlyspooch!

And he has absolutely no idea why. All he knows is that this "Abby" is going to experience much pain later. Yes, she will suffer the wrath of Zim if she is not careful, and he severely doubts she be.

But Zim  _does_ have other things on his mind, and he quickly realizes that one of his many concerns may help him in his quest. Or, at the very least, it will stray the Dib-thing's attention from that  _Abby_ girl for but a moment. He waits until Dib trails at the end of the group (a habit from being left out at skool; Zim noticed), and takes this opportunity to wrap his clawed hand around Dib's clammy wrist. Dib almost lets out a shout, but Zim—in a moment of quick and clever thinking—uses his free hand to cover the filth-bag's mouth (not an easy task; he had to, humiliatingly enough, get on his tiptoes).

It isn't until Zim has dragged them away from the group and behind a tree that he allows Dib to speak. "What the  _fuck_ , Zim?" Dib half whispers, half shouts, still trying to get the taste of Zim's skin out of his mouth. _  
_

"I request to know what you were doing with a tiny version of me in your possession."

Dib stops short at this, his expression somewhere between shocked and exasperated. "Are you talking about the doll thing?" At Zim's curt nod, he continues. "It was for voodoo, alright? Now can you just let me—" He tries to make a quick escape, but Zim grabs him by the wrist again. Dib tries to pull away, but Zim just grips tighter, his claws threatening to break into Dib's soft, squishy flesh. He decides it's probably a good idea to stay right here, at least for the time being.

"What is this  _voodoo_ you speak of?" he asks, his expression and tone not at all matching his death grip on Dib. He looks curious; at the worst, suspicious of Dib's motives.

"It's like...," Dib searches for the most overblown description he can manage, "torture practice, okay? Now will you let  _go_ of me?" He gestures at his trapped wrist for emphasis, and after a slight hesitation, Zim obeys, releasing Dib's wrist back into the fresh summer air. Dib immediately takes to massaging it with his other hand, hoping the pain will leave as quickly as it came. But just as he turns to leave, Zim speaks up again.

"Dib-stink, if I may be so frank,  _Zim_ is the one who is deserving of your silly staring."

And Dib  _does_ stare at him this time, but it's full of confusion, not hatred or whatever it was he was staring at the Abby girl with. Zim decides he doesn't like it. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, Zim," he tells him, but the hatred has become something more like annoyance. "And to be honest? I don't really care. I'm actually starting to enjoy myself for once, and I would appreciate if you weren't always around trying to  _ruin_ things for me!"

He leaves Zim there, feeling chilly and caged under the shadows of the tree. He joins the rest of the group, and within two minutes Dib is back to watching Abby. Zim can't stand it. He clenches and unclenches his fists over and over, trying to calm himself.

* * *

 

"Alright, campers!" says Mr. Whitemore, standing in front of one of the picnic tables, where there's bowls, wooden spoons, flour, eggs, cornmeal... and what appears to be a small, old-fashioned oven. "To start the day off, we'll be baking cornbread!"

"Oh, yay!" cheers Keef, looking like he's absolutely ecstatic at this turn of events. But then again, Keef would probably be happy if Mr. Whitemore were to tell them they were writing essays on the lifespan of dust bunnies. The rest of the group is mostly silent. "Cornbread is great!" Keef continues, and Zim feels like he's going to puke. How much effort does it take to say so consistently happy? Zim feels like the red-head is trying too hard. "Don't you think so, Quinn?" So Quinn is top tier, it seems. Thank goodness. Zim was already having a hard enough time with Keef; just imagine having to be his "bestest friend" again.

"Yeah, I guess...," Quinn says softly, smiling slightly. He must have low standards.

"Well then," Mr. Whitemore says, with a smile so bright it could blind, "you about ready to get started?"

Keef's eyes sparkle, and he nods enthusiastically. "Yes, yes, yes!" He rushes to the table, grabbing a bowl and holding his spoon straight up in the air, brandishing it like it's a sword. "I'm ready!" Noemi is the next to follow suit, giggling as she dodges a swing of Keef's spoon. Quinn shyly joins them, sitting opposite of Keef as he gingerly picks up a wooden spoon and turns it over in his hand. Yeci and Gaz sit down at opposite ends of the table, seeming more than content to distance themselves from the group. Abby sits next to Noemi, surprisingly quiet as she tolerates Keef's unmatched enthusiasm. Dib sits directly across from her, but he hesitates first, like it's some sort of big deal. Zim doesn't think it is, and he plops down next to Dib, scowling.

"So you'll see that there's a stack of paper in the middle of the table," Mr. Whitemore explains, but Zim's already _noticed_. Who wouldn't have? "That's the recipe." Of course it is. Each camper reaches forward and grabs a sheet for themselves. "You'll each make your own portion of the batter, which we'll mix together at the end and put in the oven together! Does that sound good to everyone?"

They all smile and nod... all except for Zim, who has just now decided to grab a recipe. But just as he lifts it up, there is a tug on the other side of it. He looks up, glaring at whoever  _dares_ to pull on _Zim's_  rightful sheet of paper. Abby is holding onto the other side of the paper, her brown eyes narrowed dangerously. "This is  _my_  recipe," she hisses, taking another pull on the paper. "I grabbed it first." That's obviously a lie, but still the dirt girl nods at the last sheet of paper, which is thickly coated in flour. "You can have that one."

This just makes Zim want to destroy her more than ever, but he knows how well _that_ would go over with Mr. Whitemore. And despite how disastrous this trip has proved itself to be so far, Zim can't deny that it is a mission in it's own right. It may in fact be his only mission, considering—

He's not thinking about that. He grumbles to himself as he releases the sheet Abby has a hold on and settles with the flour-covered paper. She's  _still_ going to pay. But not now. Just... very, very soon. Oh yes, she will regret the very day she ever messed with  _Zim_!

Apparently, "very soon" is even sooner than Zim had expected. As soon as he's finished up his batter, Dib's voice rings out from beside him. "Hey Abby, can I borrow that baking powder?" Zim's eyes go immediately to the pair, but he doesn't really  _see_ Abby. He just sees Dib's lips moving; sees him staring at a detached voice.

"Uh, sure," the voice goes, and the baking powder slides across the table until it's in front of Dib.

"Th-thanks," Dib says, and that little stutter sticks in Zim's mind and finds a home there. "Hey, are you into, like... space stuff?" That pause makes Zim tense, and he wondered if Dib was going to say "aliens," but he stopped himself. Does Dib... want to be accepted into this little group? Does he want Abby to like him? _  
_

Zim looks up. The Abby-Beast. Of course. He sees her this time, but he doesn't hear the words coming out of her mouth; not over the painful white noise of his rage.

Zim hardly thinks before lunging forward, launching himself onto the table, and knocking over his bowl of batter in the process. All eyes are on him as he pulls Abby up by her ashy black hair, including hers: Abby's dull brown irises look too small for the whites of her eyes. She tries to shriek, but it turns into a pained shout as she reaches up to try and loosen Zim's grip, kicking her legs all the while. She knocks over Noemi's bowl of batter, and he can hear the girl's gasp as the yellow batter oozes onto her lap. Pathetic human.

Abby's scalp is starting to turn red, so he decides he might as well spare her of this pain. Humans  _are_ weak, after all. He takes her and pins her down on the table, all while taking a large scoop of cornbread batter out of his fallen bowl. He takes a moment to marvel at how the gooey substance feels in his palms before smashing the mixture into her face. He revels in muffled sounds of objection she makes as she tries to shove him off of her.

At last her hand finds a spot in the center of Zim's chest, and she pushes him hard enough to make him land on his rear end. She's absolutely seething as she wipes the batter away from her eyes, and Zim briefly wonders if he should make a run for it. But that's a terrible idea with everyone watching and a shattered reputation to uphold. She grabs her bowl, holding it with tightly shaking hands, and dumps the contents of it over Zim's head. Zim can only gawk as he finds his wig thickly coated in the sticky substance. He doesn't have a spare with him.... Oh, how this will be a  _pain_  to wash!

He snatches a half-empty bag of flour off of the table and empties it onto Abby's misshapen head. She looks like a ghost when covered in white—it suits her. Abby raises a hand to her head in shock, surely noticing the way the flour sticks to the batter coating her face. She scrapes some of the ghostly white off of her hair, revealing the haunting black underneath.

She pounces on Zim, repeatedly striking him with her wooden spoon. She isn't too powerful, but the hits still sting. Zim is about to retaliate when—

"Zim! Abby!" The two of them are quickly yanked apart by Mr. Whitemore, who scowls as they retreat back to their respective sides of the table. "I'm disappointed in both of you." Zim almost rolls his eyes. He's heard this before. "I thought you could handle such responsibility, but now I see that we'll just have to make cornbread some other day."

"What does cornbread have to do with responsibility?" Dib interjects, raising an eyebrow.

Mr. Whitemore shushes him. "Now, I want you two to both apologize to each other. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Whitemore," Abby and Zim chorus, looking at each other uncertainly. Their eyes narrow, and there's a short, silent battle over who will have to speak first.

Zim decides to get it over with, grumbling, "I am so very sorry, Abby-Filth, for giving you the medicine you so rightfully needed to consume."

Abby forces a smile, but her glare hardly subsides. "I _forgive_ you, Zim," she says through gritted teeth. "And  _I'm_  sorry for doing absolutely  _nothing_  to upset you."

"Apology  _accepted_."

Mr. Whitemore smiles, looking pleased enough. "Good! Now why don't you all take a break, hmm? I think we all need one."

"What about the mess?" asks Dib, his eyes scanning the disarray of batter, flour, and kitchen utensils that cover the dirt floor.

"The squirrels will eat it."

"Oo- _kay_  then..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original chapters (together): 3,075  
> rewrite: 4,418


	3. Cafeteria Trays and Burnt Marshmallows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone tries to eat their food, but Zim and Dib are distracting them. Seriously guys, knock it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...um, oops?
> 
> hey guys i'm back

"Honestly, Zim! Sometimes I just can't believe you! Do you think violence is the answer to... well,  _everything_? You can't just go tackling people for no good reason! What did  _she_  ever do to  _you_? Huh? _Huh!?_ ...Are you even  _listening_?" Dib sends a glare to his right, where Zim sits on one of the navy cafeteria chairs, obviously distracted by something else. Rude.

"Hm? Oh, yes, that's very nice, Dib-Stink," he drones as he picks a mushroom out of his cream of mushroom soup. He can't even _eat_ that; why did he take it? Probably so everyone else has less to eat, Dib decides bitterly. How typical of him.

"Would you  _stop_  calling me that?" Dib hisses, like he can feel the nickname crawling across his skin.

Zim just lets out a half-hearted growl, resting his chin on his palm. He's clearly focused in on to his soup right now, so Dib just sticks a fork into the lumpy pile of mashed potatoes on his own plate and decides to give up for now. He's not going to waste his time berating someone who's hellbent on ruining his life and won't even give him the time of day. God, sometimes he just hates Zim so much...

Wait, no. All the time.

Zim's eyes narrow as they pan across the cafeteria. He finally rests his gaze on Abby, who is currently obtaining her food (some kind of chicken meat, which appears to be edible by human standards). The girl looks ridiculous with that dried batter in her hair... It looks disgustingly crusty, so much so that it almost makes Zim shudder and gag.  _Almost._ He mostly just glares. There's also flour still stuck to her grey shirt. It reminds Zim of angry little storm clouds blocking out the sun. But Abby is anything but sunny.

(Zim chooses to ignore the clumps of batter sticking his wig together and the flour staining his normally pristine black jeans.)

She catches his gaze as she walks by, and gives him her own stormy glare in return before looking ahead, throwing her crusty cornbread batter hair over one shoulder.

"Hi, Abby." Abby stops mid-step, her eyes riveting in the direction of Dib, who is trying his hardest to still seem friendly. He waves and gives her a sheepish smile, but her expression only hardens in response.

Her shoulders go stiff as she turns away from him, and she picks up the pace as she heads towards a table at the other end of the cafeteria. Yeci and Noemi follow—but not before Noemi manages a small smile, waving in the direction of the boys' table. Abby's head turns toward her almost automatically and she glares at her accusingly. Her command is clear, and Noemi obeys, but not without risking a small, apologetic glance back at their rag-tag group.

Dib turns his attention back to Zim, who is still staring at Abby's flour-stained back, his jaw set at an odd angle. He glares hard at Zim, hard enough to burn holes into his misshapen green head, but it's hopeless: Zim won't look at him. But he goes on being angry anyways, because why should he  _need_  Zim to look at him? "Look what you've done now, Zim! Abby  _hates_  me!"

"Who doesn't?" says Gaz from the next table over (she's sitting by herself, but in suspiciously close range to her brother), but Dib ignores her.

Zim turns to look at him so suddenly that Dib almost jumps. "She never had a  _like_ for you at all!" he points out, his voice laced with venom. "She never once looked in your direction. She didn't _care_! _Zim_ looks at you all the time," he points out, giving Dib one of the haughtiest Zim-looks he's seen in a while. Dib didn't think it was possible to sound like that much of a dick while saying something that sounds like such a reassurance, but Zim always manages to surprise him.

"I can't believe you," Dib says, leaning closer to the alien without even realizing it. "You don't care, either—you never will! All you can do is harass me and you only pay attention to me when you feel like it." He stands up, taking his tray with him. "And I actually thought I might make some friends on this trip."

"You have us," Keef offers, his smile blinding in its brightness. "Me and Quinn; we're your friends, right?"

Dib's glare softens, but his expression is still deadpan at best. "I guess." He looks back to his tray, still held tight in his hands, and hesitantly sits back down. He was going to leave, but that would be pointless. He'd just be stuck in the cabin, all alone, and Zim would show up sooner or later. So he'll stay. For now.

Next to him, Zim scowls, resting his chin in his palm again.

* * *

Zim stares down the flaming white ball, gritting his teeth as it flickers and takes different shapes. He just holds it, inches away from his tiny fist, and lets it sit there, burning wildly until it turns black. He presses the soles of his feet hard against the ground, shifting in his seat with an increasing discomfort. He grips the stick in his hands and growls, taking his silent fury out on the fireball. He lifts the stick high above his head, holding it so tight it might soon break, rises from his seat, and—

"Zim, your marshmallow's on fire again."

Zim turns to glare fiercely at Noemi, loosening his grip on the stick just a bit. He lowers it only slightly. "I knew that." He waves it around in the air, madly flailing the burnt blob back and forth until the flame dies out, and then sits back down, mumbling something bitter under his breath.

Noemi just shrugs and looks back to her own marshmallow, which is hardly a golden-brown. She rotates her stick a bit, roasting the other side. She regards it with bored eyes, only diverting her gaze for a moment when Abby bumps her arm with her elbow.

"Remember, Noemi," she warns in a piercing tone. "No conversing with the _enemy_." She delivers the message as if it's of utmost importance, staring holes into the side of Noemi's head.

"Whatever," Noemi grumbles, rolling her eyes as she yanks her stick back from the campfire. Her scowl softens at the sight of her perfectly toasted marshmallow and she wastes no time in plucking it off of the stick and promptly stuffing it into her mouth. She chews loud, obnoxiously, and in Abby's face, eliciting a sound between a laugh and groan from the other girl.

The eight teens sit in a circle of logs around the aforementioned campfire, enjoying the evening and their marshmallows in near silence. Well, maybe "enjoying" isn't the right word. Hardly any of them look happy: Yeci is staring at her marshmallow sadistically as she burns it; Abby is staring off into space, lacking a fluffy white ball of sugar; Noemi is busy jamming another marshmallow on her stick, perhaps a bit too violently; Quinn keeps taking nervous looks at her, looking like he wants to apologize for everything he hasn't done; Keef is oblivious, smiling as he adds a big slab of chocolate to his umpteenth s'more tonight; Gaz's face is buried in her Game Slave, and if anyone here wants to tell her she's not supposed to have it they must know better; and Dib is busy trying to ignore Zim, who is stomping out a small fire caused by yet another burnt marshmallow. To anyone else, it would look like he's giving it his all (and sure, the marshmallow will be flat as paper once Zim has finished his stampede on it), but Dib knows better.

Zim is acting... odd, if you can call it that. He takes what must be his hundredth marshmallow out of the bag by his feet (he seems to have claimed it, Dib observes) and skewers the stick through it. He thrusts it straight into the fire and just watches as it burns. But that's not the strange part. The strange part is the _way_ Zim stares at the marshmallow. It's not sadistic or angry like Dib would have expected; there's no fire in his eyes. He just stares at it blankly, bored, waiting for one of two things happen:

1.) The marshmallow catches on fire and Zim puts it out, only half as violently as he normally would;

or 2.) The marshmallow just falls off the stick, the charred remains falling into the flames below. Anti-climatic, sure, but the way Zim just  _accepts_ it is what throws Dib off.

He's distracted, Dib can tell. The marshmallow must be his way of venting; maybe he's taking his anger out on it. Okay, well. There's one hole in that theory. Zim is acting eerily calm. It's like he's been possessed—he just watches the marshmallow burn, puts out the fire, and moves on. No screeching, no yelling, no obnoxious complaining, no barely holding back fits of rage. Just marshmallows.

It scares Dib more than he's willing to admit. He watches Zim repeat the process, holding back a grimace as the sugar catches fire once more. This time Zim just pouts, narrows his eyes, lifts the stick up level to his face, and blows on it until the flame goes out. Then he shakes the stick over the fire until the gooey mess falls right off, before reaching into his marshmallow bag to continue the cycle.

Dib decides to say something, but not because he _cares_. No, he decides to say something because Zim is _seriously_  freaking him out, and he's actually starting to get kind of worried. ...About how many marshmallows they'll have left after this massacre, of course. That's all.

"Zim, stop it. You're wasting marshmallows," Dib nags, and Zim has to crane his head up to glare at him. While Dib has grown to be about five foot six, inheriting his dad's thin, lanky proportions, Zim stands at a height of just four feet and ten inches. Even while sitting, the difference is obvious, and Zim sits up straighter when he addresses Dib to make up for it. It doesn't really work.

"Why do you care, human?" Zim spits back, pulling another unfortunate marshmallow out of the flames. "You don't appear to be eating any of them." He was right. Dib had lost his appetite hours ago, somewhere between lunch and a rather unfortunate encounter with a gopher, so he had chosen to pass on making s'mores. Still, he sits here for reasons even he is unsure of. To keep an eye on Zim, maybe? Someone had to, after all.

"I don't. But maybe the _others_ want some." He looks around the circle, hoping for some backup. Surely he can't be the only one bothered by this.

Abby stares off into space still, but there's a pointedness to it that feels almost like a slap in the face. Still ignoring him. Yeci almost— _almost—_ grins as her marshmallow bursts into flames, but does nothing to indicate she's heard a word Dib has said. Noemi catches Dib's gaze and merely shrugs. Quinn smiles a bit at this, mimicking the shrug in a way that's borderline creepy. Gaz just growls, and Dib can't tell if it's because he's talking or because something's going wrong in her game. Keef smiles and calls across the fire, "Zim can use as many as he wants! I still have plenty!" He holds up a half-full bag, shaking so that the marshmallows bounce around aimlessly inside.

Dib turns away from them, rolling his eyes. "You guys might not mind, but I do."

Keef just laughs, high and tinkly, like bells jangling around inside Dib's skull. "Aww, look! You do care!" He grips the bag of marshmallows tight against his chest, hugging it hard enough to flatten a couple. "I knew you guys could be the very bestest of best buddies, as long as I tried  _hard_ enough...!"

"We are  _not_ bestest buddies! Or any kind of buddies at all!" Dib protests, and he's almost offended when Zim doesn't object with him. Zim loves shouting at Keef, he  _knows_ he does... He diverts his gaze back to Zim, scouring his posture for a hint, any kind of  _sign_...

"Dib, you're staring," says Gaz, not even reacting to the glare Abby shoots her. Of course Gaz is going to talk to him, she's his  _sister_. He neglects mentioning this to Abby; he doubts she'll listen, and he's already damaged his reputation with her enough. And how does _Gaz_ know what Dib's doing? She never takes her eyes off that damn Game Slave.

By the time Dib's done fuming, an answer to Gaz would be belated at best and Zim's far more interesting anyways, staring be damned. "Seriously, stop it," he tells him, frowning when the marshmallow Zim's let sit in the fire predictably bursts into flames.

"Why should I?" asks Zim in the most obnoxious tone manageable, before casually hitting the stick against the dirt a couple times to put out the fire.

"Because it's _bothering_ me," replies Dib, leaning in closer to Zim and gripping hard at the log they're sitting on.

He can hear Noemi say something like, "Guys, cut it out," but the look on Zim's face effortlessly drowns it out. There's light in his eyes again, and Dib's not happy about it, but he definitely doesn't feel as bothered as he just claimed to be.

"Oh, really?" Dib can see the ghost of a smirk creeping onto Zim's face, and it makes his stomach churn. Or maybe not _churn_... but his stomach does _something_ , and it makes him feel sick.

"You've been acting really weird tonight..." He's confident in where he's going with this at first, but as he realizes the words are actually coming out of his mouth he hesitates. Of course he would notice if Zim was acting weird. He always notices things about Zim. He's always watching, always listening, always waiting for him to fuck up so he can expose him for the monster he is. Not because Zim is a danger at this point; just so he can get Zim out of his life. The sooner, the better.

But no matter how much observing he does, no matter how many notebooks he's filled with theories and speculation, no matter how many hours he's spent ranting about it to his uncaring sister, he's  _never_ shared his personal findings with Zim. Not unless the alien proved them right. This isn't one of Dib's usual, _"You're really suspicious and I'm gonna get you, alien scum,"_ _interrogations._ This is genuine  _concern_ for the invader's well-being. The realization leaves him reeling, light-chested and exposed.

Zim seems just as taken aback, either by Dib's tone, expression, or a swimmingly sick mixture of both. "I'm doing  _what_ now?"

Dib tries to stop the words, but now that's he's dove in, he can't swim back to the surface, and the words just overflow, spilling out of his mouth like a waterfall. "You're not acting as angry as you usually do. You're just staring at the marshmallows as they burn, and then you don't even get angry when they catch fire." He states it like simple fact, because that's all it is. Findings and observations.

"He looks angry to me," Quinn adds in, fiddling with the stick he'd been using to roast marshmallows just minutes ago. Keef hands him a s'more, trying to ease his nerves, but Quinn fiddles with that, too. "Is he usually angrier?" Quinn's face is pale, but something in his expression tells Dib he isn't necessarily scared.

"Uh, I guess," is Dib's answer, and it might just be one of the vaguest things he's ever said. He feels his mouth clamping shut, and just like before, he can't control his mouth. The dam is shut and he's done talking. And good thing, too. He doesn't know what he _would_ have said, were he to continue, but he's not sure he wants to know.

And Zim... Well, it seems he's happy to answer Quinn's question himself. His eyes are alight now, burning brighter than any marshmallow fire as he stares Dib down. His cheeks are dusted over with a light shade of pink, hardly noticeable in the dim light of the campfire, and he shakes violently as he grips the stick in his little fists tighter and tighter until it finally  _snaps_. The  _crack_ that cuts through the air is loud enough to bring Abby back to earth, and she stares at them through her bangs as Zim takes half of the broken twig and shoves it mere inches in front of Dib's face. "Who. Gave  _you_ , you revolting piece of human  _filth_ , the permission to lay your eyes on the sacred body of  _Zim_... For  _extended periods_ of time?!" He shakes the stick now, and Dib has to shrink back to avoid the splinters of wood that fly off of it. "Never... have I felt so... so violated! Do you hear me?  _Violated_ , Dib! Never again do I want see your... your grimy _mud-baby_ eyes pointed in my general direction!" He leans in close, his eyes only level with Dib's now that he's standing. "Do you understand me, Dib? Tell Zim you understand!"

Zim's close enough that Dib can feel his breath, hot and sticky against his skin. All at once, Dib is acutely aware of the blistering heat pressing against him at every angle and he stands, brushing imaginary dust off of his pants. "Whatever, Zim. I'm going to bed," he says as he turns and walks away. He watches the sky as he walks, taking in the way the grey clouds stand out against the dark.

Zim stares after him, clutching the broken stick tightly in two clawed hands. When Dib's finally disappeared from view, he throws both pieces to the ground, stomping them into the dirt with newfound fervor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original chapters (together): 1,568  
> rewrite: 3,001


	4. Red Notebooks and Raccoon Bites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dib finally makes that list the title mentioned and Quinn has a fucking Experience™.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey.......... long time no see............... you know, like a year...........................
> 
> well at least i'm here now??

Dib turns over in bed again, letting out a closed-mouth groan as he groggily opens his eyes. Keef has finally—after much convincing on Quinn’s part—decided to call it a day and go to bed, but Dib _still_ can't sleep. His eyelids are heavy and every one of his muscles feels like it’s about to give out, but sleep just isn't coming to him. And Zim’s ridiculous sleep talking really isn’t helping manners. Every time he feels like he might drift off, he hears, “No, unscrew the dorsal toridak shell…!” or, “Skoodge, pass me the leaf syrup at once…” It seems that Zim continues to be a bossy, domineering brat even in his sleep. Who knew?

He sits up in bed, wiggling his lanky body out of his sleeping bag as he does so. He blinks a few times, trying to get his eyes adjusted, but he’s not making any progress without his glasses on. He reaches over the edge of the bed and takes his glasses off of the tiny end table he had set them on before laying down. He sets them down on the bridge of his nose, feeling at ease as clarity washes over him. Then he grabs what was placed under his glasses—a bright red spiral notebook. Well, not so bright right now. The color looks more like a faded crimson in this light, so he reaches under his pillow, trying to find his miniature flashlight to remedy the problem. His hands hit the rough embroidery of his homemade Zim plush first, but he shifts his hand to the right and further forward and ah, there it is. He presses a button on the back of the flashlight as he pulls it out into the open and a dim light flickers on, bringing the slightest smile to Dib’s lips. He retrieves a pen out of the notebook's spiral and turns to the notebook’s first page.

At this rate, he’s not getting any good sleep tonight. He’s accepted that. So instead of _trying_ to sleep, he'll do what he’d do on any normal night—occupy himself with something else in hopes that he'll be so exhausted afterwards that he'll just pass out.

He puts the pen up to his mouth and thinks for a moment, waiting for inspiration to come to him. His smile fades as it does, and he looks down, scratching heavy words across the head of the page.

_Things that suck about summer camp_

The rest just sort of comes to him, and his face is caught between a grin and a grimace as he continues to scrawl words down with so much enthusiasm that he can feel the paper come close to tearing. God, this summer camp must be more awful than he _thought_ it was. And considering what a ride today was, that’s really saying something.

  1. _Zim is here._
  2. _So is Keef._
  3. _I'm in the same cabin as both of them._
  4. _Zim is talking in his sleep & it’s keeping me up._



There’s a rustling above him, and Dib’s writing pace slows to a crawl before coming to a halt entirely. He sits almost completely still, frozen if not for his left hand, which carefully lowers the flashlight until it’s been silently buried underneath the covers, coating the room in darkness once more. He waits one, two, three beats afterwards, until he hears Quinn roll over in bed again and sigh. Then he waits three more, just to make sure he’s asleep, before clicking the flashlight off and stuffing it back under his pillow.

He glances back at the list, the words indiscernible with only the light of the room to shine upon them. He closes the notebook and sets it back down on the table before removing his glasses and gingerly placing them on top.

He finds sleep comes much easier this time.

* * *

Keef is the first to rise in the morning, sitting up at stretching at 7:30 sharp. It doesn’t surprise him. In fact, it brings a familiar smile to his face. He’s always been an early riser. He slips out of his sleeping bag and hops right out of bed, ready to start the day seconds after waking. He tromps across the room, paying very little attention to how much noise his feet make as they slap against the floor.

Once he makes it over to his bag he unzips it with gusto and begins to rifle through it, tossing assorted clothing items behind him in his search for the perfect t-shirt. At last, he makes a gleeful noise as he pulls out a lavender shirt adorned with bunnies. Perfect.

He’s just retrieving his binder out of his bag when he hears the sound of rustling bed sheets behind him. He turns around just in time to see Quinn roll over in bed and a bright smile instantly takes over his face. He sets the shirt on top of his bag and takes quick, tip-toed steps across the room until he reaches the latter on Dib and Quinn’s bunk bed. He takes it two steps at a time until he’s reached the top, where he positions himself on his knees in front of Quinn, who's curled himself up in his blankets like a little burrito.

At first Keef assumes he’s asleep, but when he nudges him he sits upright instantly, his dark eyes snapping wide open. He almost shrieks, but manages to cover his mouth with his hands before any real noise comes out. "...Oh." His falls as he sees Keef in front of him. Actually, it falls a _lot_ ; so much that Quinn looks kind of grumpy. Oh well, a lot of people are grumpy in the morning—it's no big deal! Quinn sighs, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing at his temples with his knuckles. "What do you _want_ , Keef?"

Keef hardly seems to take note of his mood, instead shooting him a sunny smile as if that’ll cheer him up instantly. It just makes Quinn squint in his direction. “You looked like you were about ready to get up! After all, we have a fun-filled day ahead of us!”

“Keef, it’s seven in the morning.”

“And we’re supposed to be up by eight!” Keef cries, so loud that it’s a wonder he doesn’t wake Zim and Dib. “Besides, this could be a great camp bonding activity!”

“Bonding activity?” Quinn asks, wiggling himself out of his sleeping bag. He’d love to get some more sleep, but with Keef around that looks to be out of the question. If he’s learned anything from the past eighteen hours, it’s that the redhead can be awfully persistent, especially when it comes to making friends. Whatever “bonding activity” Keef has in mind, he has no choice but to go along with it.

Keef leans forward on his knees and waves what looks like a cropped, black tank top in front of his face. “I have trouble putting this on myself.”

Quinn blinks, once, twice, before promptly turning maraschino cherry red. Oh. _Oh._ “I-I mean, if you really want me to, I-I can, but I…” He continues to sputter helplessly, not at all sure how to deal with the situation at hand. He doesn’t want to seem insensitive, and he doesn’t really _mind_ … It’s just that the thought of helping a near-stranger get dressed flusters him beyond belief.

Keef seems to understand this, because as he sits back and sets the binder in his lap, his smile doesn’t fade. “It’s okay if you’re embarrassed! I can just ask Dib or Zim if you’re uncomfortable or anything. But I thought this might be a good opportunity to get to know you! We didn’t really talk much yesterday.” His smile grows a little sheepish. “Plus I thought Zim wouldn’t want me to wake him up for this. He had to help me get out of it last night.”

Quinn’s eyes flit between the black fabric in Keef’s lap and the redhead’s wide, hopeful eyes. After one last moment of thought, he concedes, squeezing past Keef to make his way down the latter. “I-it’s no problem!” he reassures him, gripping the latter’s wooden rungs carefully to make sure his sweaty hands don’t slip off of them. “I don’t mind, y-you just…,” he glances behind himself as he steps onto the cabin’s hardwood floor, trying to reorient himself to his surroundings, “...surprised me, that’s all!” He takes a few steps towards the corner of the room, his gaze searching the room for wherever he might have placed his bag. If he’s getting up, he might as well start getting ready himself.

“Really? Great!” Keff shrieks, much closer than Quinn had anticipated, making the quieter boy flinch again. Somehow he hadn’t heard him make his way down the latter. “You have no idea how much this means to me!” Before Quinn can say anything, the binder is shoved into his arms, followed shortly by a worn-out pajama shirt. Wait, wasn’t Keef just…?

Quinn can feel his ears burn. Oh. Right. Of course.

“Come on,” says Keef, as cheerfully as ever. “Help me get it over my head first.”

Quinn sets the shirt on the floor where he’s sure he’ll remember it, before taking a deep breath to calm his nerves and slowly turning around. If he didn’t already feel like he was overheating, the sight of Keef’s bare back is certainly fixing that little problem. He’s sure he must be red all the way down to his fingertips, but he moves to stand behind Keef anyways, entirely unsure if he should stare or avert his eyes entirely. Keef holds his arms up and Quinn moves the binder above him (checking first to make sure he’s not about to put it on backwards), and slowly lowers it, trying to stretch it a bit wider so it can make it past Keef’s head easier. This involves a lot more strength than anticipated, and Quinn can feel his muscles straining before Keef even gets his hands through the arm holes. The binder moves down easily under Keef gets his head through, at which point it gets stuck at his chest.

“Reach down the front,” Keef says, and Quinn nearly feels his heart stop, “and just stretch it forward as much as you can.” Quinn’s shaky hands make their way around Keef’s neck and reach down to wedge themselves underneath the binding panel. “So, I never told you how I met Zim and Dib!” Keef chirps, and Quinn’s forever grateful for the distraction.

“N-no, you… you didn’t,” Quinn mumbles, trying to still himself as he pushes against the front of the binder. This creates a bit of room, but not enough to get it down over Keef’s chest.

“Well, you know, we go to skool together!” Keef starts, his voice like a fresh coat of paint. “I’ve known them since elementary skool—Zim transferred in during fifth grade, and that’s when we first became friends!”

Quinn increases the pressure he’s putting on the front of the binder and it moves forward just a little more, but not quite enough… “You and Zim... are _friends_?” he asks breathlessly. He sure hadn’t gotten that impression. Zim seems like he’d rather have nothing to do with Keef. Then again, anyone who’s willing to help Keef out of this thing must be his friend.

Does that make him and Keef friends too? He wonders.

“Yeah, we’re the bestest friends! Sure, we’ve had our _issues_ —he wouldn’t let me near him for a long time after the whole squirrel thing, and he was always talking about how he wanted to take my organs out—but we’re fine now! It’s basically like nothing ever happened!”

Part of Quinn wonders what Keef’s even talking about, part of him can’t help but be alarmed at the organs comment, and part of him thinks it’s best not to ask, but most of him is laser focused in on pushing the binder just the slightest bit forward, just enough to…

Ah, there it goes.

Quinn pulls his hands away before they can make more than a second’s contact with Keef’s chest, feeling like his entire body is just a moment away from spontaneously combusting. Keef turns around now, tugging at the bottom of the binder and palming at his chest until he feels satisfied with the way everything feels. “Okay, how do I look?”

“Shirtless,” Quinn spits out, and he immediately wants to slap himself. “I-I-I mean, g-good! R-really good...”

Keef laughs, high and bell-like, almost screeching. “Thanks! Anyways, where was I…?” He presses his knuckles to his lips, staring at the ceiling until words seem to finally return to him. “Oh, right! Elementary skool stuff!” He turns around and retrieves the shirt he set on top of his bag, pulling it on as he continues his story to Quinn. “Okay, but Zim and Dib, like, _never_ got along as kids! They were always screaming at each other in the middle of the classroom, chasing each other around the blacktop, threatening to do perform horrifying scientific experiments on each other…” He kneels down to rummage through his bag a little more. “You know, things like that!”

“Do they… get along now?” Quinn asks, because he seriously doubts it. Either yesterday was a really rough day or they just hate each other’s guts. Considering they nearly killed each other before even boarding the bus, he’d guess it’s the latter.

Keef purses his lips slightly, taking a moment to consider it as he kneels down to dig through his bag again. “They’re working on it,” he tells Quinn at last, perhaps too optimistically. He pulls out a pair of purple shorts and tucks them under one arm as he shakes his pajama pants off. Behind him, Quinn places his hands firmly over his eyes. “I know it _seems_ bad now, but they used to be _much_ worse! Like I always say, at least they aren’t trying to kill each other anymore!”

“K- _kill_ each other?!” Quinn squeaks, parting his fingers to give him a window to gape at the redhead. “They tried to _kill_ each other!”

“Well, yeah!” Keef says, as if that had been made clear from the start. With his pajama pants all the way off, he steps into the shorts, taking a second to pull them up to his hips before continuing. “They used to do this thing where they’d yell how they planned to murder each other from across the classroom. They stopped doing it in middle skool. I think they just got tired of exerting all that energy on each other! Oh, but they still argued a lot! I guess they still do, even today…” He smiles, zipping up the shorts and buttoning them before turning to face Quinn again. “It’s still a huge improvement, though!” At Quinn’s wide-eyed stare, his smile fades. “What? Wasn’t your skool like that?”

Before Quinn has the chance to reply, a low, loud rumbling noise is heard outside, intermingled with assorted hisses and shrieks. The noise is so loud that it awakens Dib, who jolts but does not sit up, and Zim, who flails around enough to accidentally throw himself off of the top bunk. He lands with a painful _thump_ , his body still half-stuck in his sleeping bag. All three boys stare at him as the sound begins to fade, and there’s an awkward beat of silence before Zim waves a hand in the air, indicating to the others that he will make a recovery soon enough.

"W-what was that?" Quinn stumbles through his words, trembling slightly as his gaze moves towards the door—their gateway to the origin of the sound.

Dib slowly rises out of bed, rubbing his eyes with the balls of his hands. He reaches for his glasses, pawing around blindly until he finds them on the bedside table. He places them on the bridge of his nose just in time to see Zim scrambling to his feet and rushing to the door. Clearly the Irken has become hell-bent on finding the source of the strange rumbling that _dared_ awaken him from his slumber. He stomps over to the door and yanks it open, Keef trailing after him the whole way.

Outside, the girls have huddled outside of their cabin, directly across the way from the boys’. Yeci is on her knees, with her arms wrapped around Noemi, patting her back awkwardly. Noemi herself is sitting on the wooden porch, her face buried in her knees, which she holds tightly to her chest. Dib has to avert his eyes to avoid looking up her skirt, even though it’s apparent she’s wearing shorts underneath. Gaz stands to the side, leaning against the cabin’s front door, her arms crossed over her chest. If she’s worried, it’s certainly a restrained concern. Abby is walking over to them, her back to the boys. With the way her steps kick up dirt as she walks, leaving tan marks her otherwise pristine black shoes, it’s clear she’s angry about... well, they'll find out soon enough.

Quinn, upon noticing Noemi’s vulnerable pose, tiptoes over to the doorway, getting a better look over the top of Keef and Zim’s heads. "What happened to Noemi...?" he mumbles, not nearly loud enough to travel outside of their cabin.

"We'll find out," says Zim darkly, marching outside before anyone can tell him it’s a bad idea. Quinn follows, gnawing on his lip, and so does Keef, his expression just screaming curiosity. Dib, who had simply been watching all this time, takes a second to smooth his hair down before pushing himself out of bed and wandering outside after them.

"Hey!" Zim hollers just as Dib closes the door behind him. "What in the name of your filthy planet is happening?"

A good fifteen yards away, Abby stops mid-step to turn around and send him an icy glare. "None of your damn business, _Zim_!" Dib, despite the tension hanging in the air, has to fight back the smile that pulls at the corners of his lips. He can’t help but admire the way she says Zim’s name: sour and full of animosity, just the way Zim's name should be said.

Zim practically launches himself off of the cabin porch in another attempt to attack Abby, holding his clawed hands out in front of him like weapons. Fortunately Dib snaps out of his moment of fondness just in time to yank on the back of his collar, keeping him a safe distance away from the dark-haired girl. "Zim! _Control_ yourself!" Zim just hisses at him, shooting him a scornful look over his shoulder. Dib redirects his eyes back to the girls, making sure to keep a firm grip on the back of Zim's baggy pajama shirt, which must be at _least_ four sizes too big. "Sorry, Abby," he apologizes, this time forcing a smile onto his face. "He's just... _concerned_ , is all." He gives Zim a quick, pointed glare, hoping it will keep him in his place (but knowing it won’t).

Abby scowls, scrunching her thin mouth to one side. " _Suuure_." She spares a look to the side, and her frown spreads out across her face again. "If you really _must_ know, some raccoons ran by the cabins just before you guys came out.” She grimaces. “Like a whole pack of them."

Zim's eyes narrow skeptically. " _Really,_ now?"

Abby nods, her voice matter-of-fact. "Really now."

Zim lunges forward again, shouting, " _Lies!_ You _lie_ , Earth Dirt! You _liiieee_!" Dib is taken aback by the sudden movement, and has to wrap his arms around Zim's waist to keep them both from tripping over the porch steps.

The universe just loves to prove Zim wrong. This is blissfully confirmed when a stray raccoon rushes past the cabin, its tail following its plump body like a streak of calligraphy paint. Noemi shrieks, scrambling backwards on her hands and feet, in almost a crabwalk. Zim takes a moment to stare at it like it just destroyed a piece of his high-tech alien equipment before relaxing into Dib's arms. "Oh. _Well_ then, what's wrong with the purple-headed one?"

Abby rolls her eyes, gritting her teeth. Her posture is tense, like this is one question she doesn’t want to answer, but one that she must. " _Noemi_ got bit by one," she spits out at last, emphasizing Noemi’s name as if trying to remind Zim that she actually _has_ one. Noemi looks up at her with big, teary eyes, more white than iris. She opens her mouth to speak, but Abby shushes her before she can get the chance. " _Shh._ It's okay, I know you're upset…”

Quinn's eyes grow fractionally wider (they were already wide enough). "She was _bitten_?" he gasps, his voice just barely carrying over enough for the girls to hear. "Sh-she could have _rabies_ … Couldn’t she?"

"Abby...," Noemi starts to say, her big eyes beginning to narrow at Abby. The tears are subsiding now that the last of the raccoons are gone, and now she appears to be… a little mad? Disappointed? Scolding, maybe?

Abby, on the other hand, doesn't miss a single beat. "Yeah," she says seriously, shrugging in response to Quinn’s question, like Noemi getting rabies is only _sort of_ a big deal. "We're gonna take her to the nurse's office though, she'll be _fine_." She gives them what looks like an _extremely_ forced, slightly condescending smile as she helps Noemi to her feet. On her other side, Yeci has already stepped away from the distraught girl, letting her arms fall uselessly to her sides. Gaz, very predictably, doesn’t move from her comfortable position against the door. "You guys can go; we'll be okay on our own."

"Okay...," mutters Dib, eying them oddly. He freezes at the realization that he’s been holding Zim close to his chest for the last forty-five seconds, before quickly releasing him. At this point, he trusts that Zim has very little reason to pounce at Abby again, but if he does, it’s definitely not Dib’s fault. With his long legs he’s able to get back to the cabin door in only a few quick strides, and he flings it open and lets himself inside before anyone can say anything otherwise. He doesn’t think they’d want to, though; none of his cabinmates seem particularly happy as they follow him inside.

Even Keef's expression is only worried at best—his eyebrows slanted slightly, his mouth taut in a little pout. "Poor Noemi...," he sighs, wasting no time before crossing the room and grabbing a pair of jelly shoes off of the floor. He sits down on the hardwood and makes slow, careful work of getting the right shoe onto the correct foot, clearly using it as a way to distract himself.

"Yes...," Zim agrees, scowling. He hardly seems worried—he looks more contemplative than anything. "Well, it should be classified as her fault for not being more careful. Human bodies are known to be extremely frail, after all, and susceptible to all kinds of _repulsive_ diseases." He shudders, letting out a disgusted groan at the mere _thought_ of whatever symptoms Noemi could develop due to this “rabies”.

Quinn, still standing by the doorway, exhales shakily and hugs himself so hard his knuckles turn bony white. Keef stops halfway through strapping his shoe on to look at him, more worried than Dib has ever seen him. "Quinn, it's okay!” he chirps, but there’s a wobble in his voice that betrays his reassuring tone. “Abby said she'll be fine!”

Quinn avoids his eyes, instead staring resolutely at the ground, where his feet remain firmly planted. "B-but what if she's not...?" he whispers, and they only hear it because no one dares to move. "What if she's _not_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original chapters (together): 2,199 words
> 
> rewrite: 3,949 words


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